Warm Me Up (And Breathe Me)
by wreckofherheart
Summary: [Post Season 3] After a year encaged in psych, Piper is riddled with guilt and clings onto her last thread of sanity. Despite her own complications, there is one person in particular she is desperate to make amends with.
1. Trial and Error

**:.:**

Warm Me Up (And Breathe Me)  
 **1.**

 **:.:**

Tears soak your shirt.

You can smell blood.

And the screams of madness.

This morning, you choked back a cry. Or, maybe it was the afternoon. Or, possibly the evening? You can't be certain anymore. Time does not exist within white, blank walls. You miss the sun rising, you miss the scent of dewy grass, and your eyes are sore––tired of the black and white you see everyday. Your bones have crumbled into ash. You can taste it in your mouth.

A nurse sticks a needle into your wrist.

You gave up fighting weeks ago.

Now, you just lie there, still and motionless. Imprisoned, cuffed to a bed; your ankles and arms are no longer yours. You used to think this'll pass. They will realise your innocence, because you have always been innocent, you have always been sweet, you have always been a good, little girl. You used to think that, one day, the door will open. An officer will step through, remove the cuffs around your delicate skin, smile at you, and announce your freedom.

One evening they injected a drug into you which made you insane.

You thrashed and screamed on the bed. Your doctor concluded you are not fit to join your inmates; you are sick. You are unwell. And you may never recover. He isn't sorry. He doesn't care. He stares into your wide, teary eyes and there is _nothing_. Your body wails out as he walks towards the door, and shuts it closed behind him. You are alone. The silence digs into your skull, and slowly rips away at your mind; your sanity drips away with each passing second and you are helpless.

Innocence.

What is that?

Is innocence really all about being good? Is innocence mere naïvety––not knowing the difference between right and wrong? Is innocence that of a child, a baby, taking his first steps? Is innocence the girl starting school for the first time, brain fresh and accessible for moulding? Is innocence the girl, baffled and so in love with another girl, she'd even walk into the very depths of Satan's Kingdom for her? Is innocence a suitcase of money, the kisses of a drug smuggler? Is innocence when you cry at night, weeping loudly into your pillow, calling out for your mother?

Save me, save me, save me.

' _I don't like this version of you.'_

Your heart pinches. You wince at the agony bursting through your trembling body, and you tremble, grasping the edges of the mattress. Now, you start to hate yourself. You call yourself a silly girl. A _stupid_ girl. You were trying to become someone you were not. And now the stupid girl pays. What has _happened_ to you? _Who_ are you? _What_ are you? You don't recognise yourself anymore. You can't bear the idea of looking at yourself in the mirror, and seeing that monstrous face.

This prison has changed you.

Alex. Her name rolls off your tongue, and you scrunch your eyes shut. You twitch violently, pull your left wrist to your chest. The last you heard about Alex was so long ago. Minutes before your illegal business was discovered, your crazed tattoos, your obsession for control. Word spread fast: her corpse was discovered in the greenhouse with another corpse––an officer––but there are other rumours too. Alex survived, with only a nasty hit to the head. Another story is that she was rushed to hospital with two broken legs, and two broken arms. The worst is that they found her body, but mutilated and barely recognisable.

You never discovered the truth.

They sent you to psych without a warning. You fought, panicked, and they reacted. They shoved you up against your cellblock, handcuffed your wrists behind your back, and sent you on your way. A shameful, humiliating walk out of the prison, all inmates' eyes on you. Your tattoo singes your arm, burns into your skin, boils your chilling blood. _Trust No Bitch_. Yet, as you are escorted, all you see are the faces of innocent, harmless women. You see nothing evil, nothing corrupt; suddenly the prison appears beautiful and surreal to you and you want to stay there forever.

Your breath catches in the back of your throat.

You are the bitch. The manipulative creature. Horrible and hungry for power. You are the bitch engraved into your arm. Poisoning everything you are. You are the bitch Stella warned you about. You are the bitch who stands, and smiles, and watches chaos reign.

You are mad, mad, mad.

Don't trust yourself. Not after what you have done. _Don't trust Piper Chapman._

The nurse returns, not to inject you with anything. Just for a quick checkup. You turn your head and watch her quietly while she works. Your throat narrows, and it's the first time in a while since you've felt such a strong emotion. It's sadness. Heavy, tiring sadness which consumes you whole. Suddenly, you miss the faces of the prison. You miss the food, the tiny wars, the lust, the presence of your friends––and your lover. You miss them dearly and it breaks your heart.

'Is Alex Vause all right?'

Your voice is a whisper, and it's a miracle the nurse heard you.

Of course she won't know who Alex Vause is. And even if she did, she is not at liberty to inform you about her wellbeing. So, you look away, close your eyes and cry silently. It's all you're good at: crying. Repenting on your sins.

The nurse closes her clipboard.

'Miss Vause is well. She returned to Litchfield prison a week ago.'

You widen your eyes and stare up at the nurse. The nurse smiles a little, and you can't tell what she's thinking, can't tell if she speaks the truth; can't tell if this is all a wonderful dream. She leaves you be again. The door closes with a loud _bam_. You go over what she said in your head: _Miss Vause is well. Miss Vause is well. Miss Vause is well._

Alex is alive.

You're overwhelmed. You tighten your fists, and burst into tears.

Tears soak your shirt.

You can smell blood.

And the screams of madness.

 **:.:**

A year passes. Somehow, you are released from psych. Someone freed you; bribed somebody to let you out. You don't know who. An officer steps into your ward. The nurse carefully helps you to your feet, and you don't believe what's happening until the officer looks into your eyes and says you're getting out. You're coming back to camp. _You're going home._

More time is added to your sentence for your criminal activity. Fortunately, your brother escaped unnoticed. The panty business is never mentioned from you again. You don't dare return to that life; _that version of yourself even you don't like_. Your tattoo glares at you, grinning and red with menace. In the van, you read your arm, over and over, reminding yourself: _Trust No Bitch._ Trust nobody. Don't trust _yourself_.

Your eyes are heavy. Your legs feel loose. Your feet are numb.

It's weird. Odd to walk again. To inhale the air.

This, you realise, is freedom.

This is freedom.

And it's glorious.

Camp comes into view. You start to shake. You still have much to pay for. A year may have passed, but your actions have not. They dread you, loathe you, spite you. Piper Chapman. _That vengeful cunt._ And, maybe you'll take it. You'll endure their blows, you'll let them win, you'll let them hate you because, damn it, you hate yourself too.

You're quiet. Desolate.

No longer the innocent.

Your officer turns to you as the driver parks the van. 'Ready, Chapman?' He asks, disinterested. He doesn't wait for your answer. He doesn't care. Ready or not, he will shove you back behind bars, and let you rot away, alone and unloved.

After the past two years, you don't find death so scary anymore.

'I'm ready,' you whisper to yourself.

The van door opens, and you step down onto the gravel.

 **:.:**

 **author's note** : I tried to avoid writing a post S3 story, but this idea has been gnawing at me for a while now. This will be an angsty fic, and I don't intend for it to be a long one, but we'll see how it progresses. Thank you for reading! Until next time.


	2. Dead Stare

**Warning** : There is attempted rape in this chapter, but I have not been graphic.

 **:.:**

Warm Me Up (And Breathe Me)  
 **2.**  


 **:.:**

Back to square one.

Orange khakis. You'll have to wait a couple of weeks to be given a cube. That's if you're a good girl. In your room are strangers; you know none of them, and you're in no mood to talk. It's clear you are not new here. You've returned from somewhere awful. There's nothing in your expression, and you feel nothing. You wonder, idly, if all emotion was taken from you when you were at psych. Well, you think, that's not all bad. Your emotions always got you into trouble, your emotions always made things worse.

Head down.

Say nothing.

Finish your sentence. Go home. Restart.

In the abstract, it is simple.

In reality, it is really fucking hard. There are more inmates than you previously remembered, or maybe your memory is too scattered. The cafeteria is filled with women you don't recognise. You walk past a table crowded with white women, and they fall quiet and stare at you as you pass. You don't think anything of their behaviour, and manage to find a free table. You pick up your fork –– 'Is that her?' 'Yeah. That's her.' 'What the fuck has happened to her? She's a skeleton.' –– and try to eat.

A tray slams onto the table. You look up.

Nicky grins. 'Well, hello there, stranger.'

You're in awe while she sits down opposite you. Nicky had been sent to MAX over a year ago, before everything went chaotic with you. For the first time in so long, you smile, and it's a warming sensation. 'When did you get back?'

'A while ago now. It's good to _be_ back.' She raises a brow. 'Right, Chapman?'

You lower your fork. You're being spoken to, and what more? By your friend. Something you never thought would happen again in your life. You can't stop smiling. It even hurts a little to smile, but it doesn't stop you. It feels good to have Nicky here––you've both been through Hell. At least it's one thing you can both relate to. A silent understanding. A deep wound which is acknowledged, but doesn't need to be discussed.

The past is the past. You're both prisoners, and have to embrace whatever life thrusts at you.

Nicky chews her food, watching you in mild concern. 'I heard about your crazy panty business, Chapman. Shame you got busted an' all.' She smiles crookedly. 'Would have loved to become a business partner.' Piper isn't sure if Nicky is joking. She's lost her appetite, not that she had one to begin with. Nicky wisely changes the subject. 'I've been worried about you.'

You inhale. 'I've been worried about you as well.'

'C'mon, man. You need to eat something.' Nicky encourages, pushing Piper's tray closer. 'You'll need the energy.' Nicky flicks her fork over Piper's shoulder. Piper follows her gesture. She's pointing towards the table occupied by the women who stared at Piper as she entered. 'Watch out for that lot. They arrived shortly after you left to psych, apparently. Not too keen on newbies.' Piper looks at her, puzzled. 'As far as they're concerned, you're a newbie, so watch your back, kid, all right?'

One of the women catches you watching. She has a slender figure, dark, brown hair and startlingly blue eyes. You turn back around to face Nicky. You're not scared, and it's a shocking reminder as to how much you've changed since you first arrived here. How anxious and terrified you were; how it felt as if the world would end when Red refused to feed you. Now, it all seems trivial.

You're not frightened anymore.

Nicky is pleased when you start eating again. It's difficult, but you try. You're so used to the IV drip and sloppy food they gave you in psych. Anything solid is hard to digest and doesn't even appear appetising. You know better than to refuse your food though.

'Met your girlfriend in MAX.'

Your heart stops. Stella. Something inside you twists, and then squeezes. It's ugly. 'She is not my girlfriend.'

'Oh. Sorry.' Nicky shrugs. 'Just she spoke about you a lot when I was down there with her.'

'All positive, I'm sure,' you mutter.

'Depends how you look at it, Chapman. You clearly left a mark on our Aussie friend. Spent most of her time licking her wounds.'

You pause. Your fist tightens under the table. 'She isn't my girlfriend.'

'All right!' Nicky smiles, and shakes her head. 'Speaking of girlfriends, I'm not the only one who's been sweating over you. Have you seen Alex yet?'

'No.' Now, you _have_ lost your appetite. Nicky makes no effort to encourage you to eat this time. You look at her, and make it obvious you want her to be blunt with you. You want to know about Alex, what happened to her in the greenhouse, how she is now. If she ever thinks about you.

Apparently, Nicky has also lost her appetite. 'You wanna know the truth, kid? An officer cornered her at the greenhouse, and beat her up good. Said he worked for some big shot called Kubra––some pimp drug lord. Obeying orders. Kubra told him to kill her. Beat her to death, but Vause held up a fight. She managed to knock him out. By the time they were discovered, neither were conscious. Vause won't tell me what happened, but all I know is that she had a few head injuries. Lost a lot of blood.'

You think you're going to be sick.

So. This is what happened. This is what happened, and you had no idea. You were so obsessed in _yourself_ , in _your_ work, in _your_ life, in _your_ friends, in _your_ business, that you forgot about Alex. You forgot about her paranoia, as infuriating as it was. You forgot what kind of a beast Kubra is. You forgot about the things he can do. You forgot Alex was yours, and you were hers, and that you _fucked_ up _everything_.

This is all on you.

If you listened, if you stayed, if you watched her back, Alex would be okay.

You want to see her.

You _have_ to see her.

Word spreads about your return. Familiar faces welcome you back: Yoga Jones, Big Boo, Lorna, Red and a few others. They don't mention the panty business, and neither do you. For the most part, you follow your own advice. Head down. Stay silent. For the first couple of weeks, you don't see Alex. You're up at nights, hoping she knows you're here, hoping she wants to see you as well. (Hoping she isn't deliberately avoiding you.)

They assign you to your cube, and you're sharing a bunk with Flaca. Opposite your bunk are two inmates you haven't met before. You exchange pleasantries with them, and they make it clear whose side is whose. Flaca, at first, is difficult. She claims the entire bunk as her own, and that if you want to sleep on the bottom bunk, you're going to have to fulfil a few favours for her first.

Such as, stealing a few treats from the kitchen.

But, now you're cold and steely and nothing scares you. Your stare is dead. You shove past her, and unload your belongings onto the bottom bunk. Fearless, you turn to face her, sit on the bunk, and say, clearly, that this is your bunk, and you dare her to challenge you.

Of course she doesn't. All you receive is a snarl and she walks away, humiliated.

You're busy making your bed when you finally see Alex. She's comfortably reading in her top bunk, a few cubes away from you. You stop, freeze, and it feels as if your heart has turned inside out and exploded. The shock is a huge blow to your body. There she is, seemingly content. From where you stand, you can see old wounds across her face, permanently disfigured.

You lose your breath and look away. Slowly, you sit down, clutching onto your pillow case. For no reason, you eyes sting with tears, but you're not going to let your guard down.

Furiously you wipe your eyes. This is all pride. You can't cry in the front of anybody, especially about Alex. Frankly, you're not sure why you cry. Are you just happy to see her? Happy to see her alive? No, no, it's much more than that. Much more complex than that.

You want to cry because you never thought you'd see her wonderful face again.

You never realised how much you loved her until now.

Now, your love for her makes your body tremble. It feels as if a wave has crashed into you, and you're drowning, struggling to break free from the frantic water.

Carefully you stand to your feet and turn to look at her again. She's gone.

Has she noticed you? Does she know you're here?

Does she care?

You return to making your bed, heart pounding.

 **:.:**

They let you keep your job in electrical. Luschek is no longer in charge. A strange flood of relief washes through you when an inmate informs you he was sacked. The truth about Nicky's drugs was discovered, and Luschek was immediately dismissed; imprisoned. It didn't take long for Nicky to come back from MAX after that. You're pleased, mainly for her sake. You're pleased he's gone.

Your first problem to fix is in the boiler room. One of the lights refuses to work.

You go alone.

The boiler room is small and hot. You don't waste time searching for the broken light. It's at the back of the room, and you require a stepladder in order to reach it. Only the lightbulb needs to be switched. You'll be finished in less than five minutes. As you unscrew the unwanted lightbulb, you're about to replace it, when you hear the door slam shut behind you.

Startled, you peer over your shoulder.

Three women have joined you, grinning and chuckling. You frown. The apparent leader of the pack is the same woman you saw in the cafeteria. Who Nicky warned you about.

You instantly know what's going on here.

'Are you okay, little bird? Need a hand?' The brunette says, walking over and reaching out to touch you.

'Hey! Get off!' You surprise her and she backs away while you climb down the stepladder. On the ground, you stare back at her, and refuse to let this woman intimidate you. You're in no mood to be messed with. 'Get the fuck out of my way.'

'Ooh,' she grins at the other inmates. 'This one is feisty. I like feisty.'

You act.

Your hands reach out and push her aside, hurrying for the door. However, one of the women blocks your escape, and pushes you hard. Your back hits the wall, and your head whams into the brick. You swear, the pain soaring from your scalp and down your spine. You're not easy to beat, though. Before the brunette grabs you, you send your knee into her stomach. One of the women pulls at your hair, and yanks.

To your horror, your feet lose balance, and you fall. The brunette is onto you immediately. She's laughing, but she's angry at you for hurting her. She pulls at your top, forcing you to your feet, slamming you into the wall. You exclaim, and struggle. It takes all three women to keep you in a hold, and the more you fight, the more it hurts, and you scream louder.

'That's good! _Fight!_ It only makes it worse, little bird!'

Yelling in protest, you try to escape, failing miserably. Your wrists are sore from their hands, and your hair is pulled at. Your scalp singes.

'Turn her around. I want to see her face.'

The women obey the brunette's command, and suddenly she seems a lot more monstrous than before. You kick and punch, but to no avail. They have you. You cannot escape, and tears roll down your cheeks. Is this what your life has become? _Do you truly deserve to be treated this way?_ What have you _done_ to deserve this? The brunette breathes against you, and her motives are clear.

'No point playing hard to get. I always get I want.'

She shoves her mouth onto yours, and your exclaims are muffled. You kick your heel into the wall, retreat as far back as possible, but her body is pressed on yours, and it feels like a ton to your chest. You can't breathe. She pulls back, and you wail, to which she slaps you.

'Shush, pretty bird. They'll hear––'

The door opens. The women turn frantically and let you go.

'The fuck?' Nicky's voice is a relief to hear. You slump and collapse to the floor. 'What the _fuck_ are you doing? What the fuck?!' The brunette smirks and walks past without a word. Her inmates follow. Nicky glares at them as they leave. Once they're out of sight, she hurries over to you. 'Hey, Chapman? Chapman! Shit.' She kneels down and holds your face between her hands. 'What did they do?'

You're too shocked to weep. You can barely form words.

You grab Nicky's top and pull her close.

'Hey, hey, hey,' Nicky says soothingly. 'Fucking bitches. I'll kill 'em, I swear.'

'Don't.' You swallow, catching your breath. You're shaking all over. 'What––What's her name? The brunette?'

'Who, Williams?' Nicky cocks a brow. 'What did she do?'

You look at Nicky, eyes wide with fear, and you consider telling her. You consider telling her everything that happened right up to the point of her appearing.

But you don't.

Instead, you shake your head. 'Nothing. She was––She was just trying to scare me.' Nicky helps you to your feet, brows furrowed. She isn't convinced. 'I, uh... I need to change the light.' The dead bulb is on the floor, and you pick it up, passing it over to Nicky. 'I won't be a second.'

 **:.:**

That evening you want to wash away all of the dirt. You want her fingermarks scrubbed off your skin, you want the sweat off your face, you want to forget everything that happened. Urgent, you splash water over your face, and gasp at the shocking cold. But, fuck, it feels good. Your pour water into the sink, freezing cold water, and tie your hair back. You cup your hands with water, and cleanse your face and neck.

You breathe. In and out. In and out.

Both hands clasp the sink. Everything comes in a rush.

The psych ward. The nurse. The doctors. _All of those damned needles poking into your skin._ The bunk beds, itchy blankets, Alex Vause reading a novel, calm and content in her own bubble, the smell of Williams' mouth on yours, her hands slipping into your trousers, and no matter how many times you screamed, begged her to let you go, she just _wouldn't get off you_ ––

Your heart is about to burst.

Then, you cry.

You cry into the sink, your tears vanishing down the drain. You cry alone. Inmates are tucked away in bed. You suffer, shudder and agonise over your return to this Hell, and you don't think you can survive.

The tattoo seems to glow in the lack of light.

 _Trust No Bitch._

 **:.:**

 **author's note** : Have no fear! Alex will be more prominent very soon. I had to have Nicky return. Season 3 just didn't feel right without her. Thank you so much for reviewing the prior chapter!


	3. Tattered Butterfly

**:.:**

Warm Me Up (And Breathe Me)  
 **3.**

 **:.:**

The week that follows is what almost breaks you. You try and forget about what happened in the boiler room, but it's difficult when Williams and her fellow inmates watch you like a hawk. They want to own you. You have become their little toy. They try to frighten you. They _are_ frightening you. They want to leave their mark on your skin, and let that mark haunt you for years. They want you to know who's boss, who's in charge, and who is the little, fragile, delicate petal.

No officer is aware of the situation. They are incompetent and utterly useless, but you keep your mouth shut, your head down. You don't say a word, no matter how much Nicky tries to convince you otherwise. Right now, she feels like your only ally, your only friend––the only person who knows what is going on inside your pretty head. The fact you are currently being hunted. You are still a lone wolf, yet outnumbered. It's as if the entire world has turned against you, and all you have for protection is the clothes on your back.

You're returning from the washer room when Williams appears. She greets you pleasantly, a wicked smile over her lips. Your heart stops, your stomach tightens, and you turn around. It's an ambush. Another woman shows, and there's something in her hand. You don't stop and stare. Fortunately, you manage to run past Williams, but she's equally as agile as you are. Her hand grabs the back of your collar, and she pulls you down with her. Her legs straddle your hips, and she tries to have you then and there.

That time, you do get away, but with a black eye and swollen cheek.

Much to your surprise it is Poussey who points out your wounds. You start to lie.

'I slipped and fell.'

Poussey doesn't buy it. You want to get away from her. You have a horrible feeling that if you revealed what was going on, that would only make things worse. There are eyes in the walls. You sit at the edge of the table in the cafeteria, and slowly eat your food. Your eye is killing you, and your cheek is so sore, you can't touch it. Some inmates look at you and your injuries, and you ignore them.

You just take it.

By Thursday, you're exhausted. You're tired of running from Williams, tired of fighting her, tired of the amount of blood she makes you spill. You are not on your shift. It's late, and you need to pee. Badly. Quietly, you proceed out of the Ghetto and towards the bathroom. You stop at a sink, inspect your bruised eye, and in the reflection you see a woman leaning against the wall.

Williams folds her arms, watching you.

You are tired.

Knackered.

Seconds from giving up, surrendering.

But, while you both stare each other down, something _ugly_ rips through your body. You think about how this all came to be. Right from the very damned beginning. That day you met Alex, in the pub. That _day_ you met her was the start. You would not be minutes away from having your clothes torn from you if it weren't for Alex. If you two never met, never fell in love––would you be happier?

Would your life be any different?

Would you not have done the awful things you did before?

You stop and breathe and think, _am I a bad person?_ And that question upsets you, because you don't know the answer. You fear that all this time in this prison has transformed you into somebody you are not. You don't know what's happening to you, and it's terrifying. You don't know what you'll be like when your sentence comes to an end. You don't know _anything_.

Maybe you are the monster like they say you are.

Maybe you are a terrible person like they say you are.

Maybe you are lost. Maybe you have nothing left. Maybe you are a manipulative, toxic woman.

Williams steps over towards you. 'Are you going to be a good, little girl?'

That's what you are really though. Isn't it? A good girl. _Make Mummy proud_. You seethe. Turning around, you face her properly. You look at her, and you hate her. 'I'd try to be. If I knew what a good girl does.' Williams' smile falters a little. 'You lay a fucking finger on me, and I won't hesitate to tear off your head. I've been here longer than you have, and I've had to endure much, _much_ worse than what you're throwing my way. So go ahead: do what you want. Just a warning, though. I might use my teeth.'

Behind you, you can hear the quiet footsteps of three other inmates.

You've been ambushed again.

The anger outweighs the fear, though. You are livid.

'Fine.' Williams steps back. She looks at her fellow inmates, then back at you. In a way, you've crushed her pride; you've won––for the moment. 'I could have made this a lot easier for you.' She nods her head, and that's the signal.

Suddenly your arms are forced behind your back. You struggle, and try to break free, but the three women have you imprisoned. This time they are not as relentless, and this time Nicky isn't here to save you. Somehow, you manage to headbutt one inmate, catching her by surprise, but it's not enough. One kicks your stomach, so hard it blows the wind out of you. Your breath comes out in a rush, and you're thrown to the ground.

All three lift you onto your knees, and you cannot escape. You look up, and Williams trails her finger across her lower lip, watching you almost admirably.

'I don't like it when people are rude to me.'

Her boot slams into your face. Your nose cracks, and blood spurts from your nostrils. A hand pulls back your hair, and her boot meets your face again, and then again, her fist hits your cheek, your other cheek, and your yells are not heard. She beats you until you're hanging onto your last ounce of life. She beats you until your face is crushed, and the floor is soaked in your blood.

She beats you until she's bored and she finally loses interest.

You're unconscious when she walks away. They release you, and you fall limply to the hard surface, amidst a pool of red.

 **:.:**

'––her pulse––'

'––she's still breathing, but I need to––'

'––fucking bitches, it was them, I swear, I'll fucking tear them apart––'

'Nicky! We need to wash away the blood.'

'I know, I know, Ma. Oi, Morello, watch the door, yeah? Don't want anybody else involved.'

A warm flannel smoothes down your face.

'Poor child.'

'Fuck, they didn't hold back, did they?'

You recognise those voices. Nicky. Red. And you're certain you heard Lorna's name. The pain doesn't reach you yet. All you're conscious of is that flannel, warm and moist, on your skin. A hand is on your shoulder, a gentle hand, and you, bizarrely, think that hand belongs to your mother.

It's this thought which sends you crashing back to reality.

Your face feels as if it's been burst open. Your face is _burning_. Your face is _on fire_. You wail out, hot tears stinging your wounds, and frantically two pairs of arms come around you.

'Chapman!'

'Keep her calm. I can't do this if she's not still.'

'Fuck. Hey, Chapman! Oi. Look at me.'

You open your eyes. You can't see out of your left. Your back feels as if it's in pieces, your ribs hurt, but your face is unbearable. Nicky is talking to you, and you can't hear her words. You push her off you. It hurts so fucking much, and you know she'll be back. She'll be back to hunt you down, to fucking _kill_ you. Oh, God. Oh, God. _Oh, God_. You want to go home. You want to go home.

 _Please, please, let me go home._

Red retreats from washing your bloody face. Water is pouring. Your screaming and yelling and crying, and you're crazed, exhausted, bruised and tortured.

They will send you back to psych, won't they?

Oh, God, they're going to send you back there!

'Get Vause.'

'What makes you thinks she's going to want to––?'

'Nicky!'

'... Fuck! Fine.'

Someone is talking to you, but her words are muffled. You can't get these scary images out of your head––how much more can you handle? _It feels like your face is being torn apart. By knives. By thousands and thousands of knives. Ripped. Shredding you into tiny, tiny, tiny pieces and you deserve that_. Your mind cackles at you, and you start to believe you deserve this, you deserve every second of this, you bitch, _you bitch, you bitch_ ––

Footsteps. Footsteps are approaching you, and your heart lurches.

 _She's back to finish you off._

'There. Can you calm her down? She's making it impossible for Red to wash her face.'

A long pause.

You start to shake. It's so cold.

Your heart is heavy.

You can't _stop shaking_.

'Vause! Do something!'

It's her smell you recognise first. Soap, the shampoo she uses, and that scent of her own. What you could smell when you'd lift her leather jacket to your nose. You can't describe it, but it's always such a nice smell, kind of homely, a little sad––

––you hear her voice, but it's breaking. You hear her voice and her voice is trembling at the sight of you.

'What happened? Why is she––What the fuck happened?'

'That crackhead is what happened. They made a fucking mess out of her––'

You can't listen to their discussion for long. The agony scorching through your body is too much. You cry out, and reach out to grab something. Your hand meets soft material and you cling to it, so tightly your knuckles turn white.

'She's in pain. She's in pain!' Alex.

'Do you think we can't see that?' ...Red?

'Holy shit.' This is a new voice.

'No, get those girls out! Get out!'

'No, no, hey, wait. I've got something for the pain.' Another voice.

'Oh, yeah? Like what?'

There's a long pause, and then: 'Well, I know that alcohol helps––'

'Where are we going to find alcohol around here––?'

You pass out.

 **:.:**

' _I called you my girlfriend.'_

' _... What? To who?'_

' _To my––parents? And my... brother and my brother's wife.'_

' _That's a bold move, Chapman.'_

' _I know. I didn't even mean to say it, it just... just came out, and now I can't stop thinking about it.'_

' _D'you wanna pass me a note and have me circle a "yes" or "no"?'_

––You hear something. Muffled whispers. Voices. The _tap_ of shoes touching the floor. Somebody laughs nearby. More muffled whispers. Something that sounds like glass. Glass hitting glass. You hear somebody's name––your own, but you're not being spoken to.

A blanket is wrapped tightly around your body. Your head rests on something comfy, and you can feel the same soft material as before. It's closer this time. _They_ are closer this time. _She_ is touching you, holding you, cradling you in their arms. You open your eyes.

There's a cup next to the bed, on the floor. Inside is an odd, brown musky substance. It smells faintly of alcohol. The bunk opposite is empty. A hand softly runs through your hair.

'What d'you know? Poussey's trick worked.'

Nicky.

'Guess I should leave you not-lesbians alone.'

'Take the alcohol with you.'

'Gladly.'

The mattress moves beneath you as Nicky stands. The cup is removed out of sight, and her footsteps fade away. You sigh, and it hurts your chest to inhale. You wince, and begin to stir. Alex's arms loosen around you, and she allows you to sit upright. Her hand rests gently on your back, just to support you. You then, finally, force yourself to look at her, face ruined and sore.

You expect to see a blunt expression. Emotionless eyes. A disinterested manner. You expect Alex to have given up on you, to have walked away by now. You expect your own nightmare. But, you've been wrong many times before, and you are left in awe at her loyalty.

Alex expresses nothing but relief to see you awake and alive.

She is happy to see you.

She is happy because of you.

Still.

After everything, even with your face mutilated, she hasn't gone.

You want to hide your face. You want to hide _yourself_. You don't want her to see you this way, but it's too late, and you're stuck regardless. You can't move.

'I'm sorry,' you whisper pathetically, choking back tears.

She doesn't want to hear apologies. She knows you're sorry, and she knows you don't deserve anything that has happened to you.

'Be quiet, Piper.'

Alex pulls you close, and you press one side of your face to her chest, holding onto her top. You hear her heartbeat, hear her breathe, feel her fingers comb through your hair, and you're safe. You're safe.

'I've got you.'

For now, at least, it's going to be okay.

 **:.:**


	4. No Sweet Home

**:.:**

Warm Me Up (And Breathe Me)  
 **4.**

 **:.:**

Lights out.

Two officers inspect each cube, and make sure the inmates are tucked in bed. They don't bat an eye at your wounded face. Either because they don't care, or they simply don't want to get their hands messy. You prefer it that way. You spend the night wide awake, eyes open, ears alert. The alcohol Poussey generously shared with you helped ease the pain, but wrapped under the covers, your face starts to sting and burn. You touch your split lower lip, and roll onto your side.

Alex is a few cubes away. It's that which comforts you, knowing she is close––that she has your back. Neither of you managed to speak for very long. The officers don't appreciate affection, and the last thing you want is for Alex to be given a _shot_. You've given her enough Hell as it is. That's what you should think. Right? You've given Hell, so you deserve Hell back. The doctor made that clear, in the ward, with the white walls, white lab coats, white doors, and white floors.

You've been very, very bad.

So you deserve punishment.

That's why they sent you to psych.

That's why you start to wonder if you ever left psych at all.

Is this all a dream? Is Williams a figment of your imagination? Are the wounds on your face–– _did you hurt yourself?_ Are they self inflicted? Are you simply making up stories in your head? _Is any of this real?_ You sit upright. _Are you going mad?_ Your arm tingles. You pull up your sleeve. _Trust No Bitch_ stares back at you, and you urgently hide the markings again.

Mad, mad, mad Piper.

You can hear their screams.

The other patients. Contained in their rooms. Banging their fists against the door. Yelling and crying out. Desperate for release. It took you six months to become one of them. Ah. You remember. A doctor was smiling at you, _grinning_ , and the needle poked into your skin, and you watched the fluid pour into your body.

 _It felt like you were high_.

You made your fists bleed from hitting the walls. Two nurses had to strap you down to the bed.

Mad, mad, mad Piper.

( _Dear God._ )

You shove off your sheets and slowly stand to your feet. Are you mad? _Are you mad?_ Is this all a plan? Is Williams part of some conspiracy, to drag you back to psych? Will you return to those quiet, sterile rooms and die there? Rot away into a forgotten name?

'Chapman,' Flaca whispers harshly.

Apparently, you've disturbed her slumber. She grabs you by the shoulder. You jump in surprise, which causes her to retreat. She looks down at you from her top bunk, brows furrowed.

'Get back into your bed; you're gonna get us a _shot_.'

'I––' You run both hands through your hair. 'I need to go.'

She sneers. 'What the fuck?'

'Got to go. I got to go.'

Flaca says nothing while you leave your cube. The officers don't notice you leave the Ghetto, hands clenching and unclenching. The lights seem to flicker above your head. You feel like you're walking on air. _Maybe you're flying?_ The thought makes you laugh. _Mad, mad, mad Piper._ You roll up your sleeves, and see all of the little pokes from the needles. One, two, three, four, sixteen, seventy. So many marks.

Maybe you are dreaming, after all.

Maybe you will wake up, and stare up at that cracked, plain ceiling again. Forever.

 _Those doctors will eat you all up._

You reach the bathroom, pour a sink of water, and you intend to wash your face. It's dirty. You look at yourself in the mirror. _Oh, God._ What is that staring back at you? A long scar travels from your hairline, a bloody gash across your forehead, bruised, slightly swollen cheek. A black eye, smudged in purple. Split lip. A broken nose. It's at an awkward angle.

This is what you have become.

A monster.

 _Monster, monster, monster!_

'Piper?'

You yell out, and turn around. Alex stares at you, wide eyed, and you think she's shocked at your appearance. You think she's horrified at your face, how ugly you are. _They always said you were such a pretty girl_. And you'll die this way. Old and hideous.

Disgusting.

Inhaling deeply, you face the mirror. You avoid looking at her.

'Please leave me alone.'

'What are you doing up? You need to rest––' Alex reaches out to touch you. You react. You quickly dodge her hand, but you're moving too fast. You hit the sink, and fall back. Alex responds, grabbing you by your top and saving your fall. She yanks you towards her, and holds onto you so tightly, you're worried for a second you might not be able to breathe.

A long exhale escapes your lips.

You can feel her beneath your fingers. You can feel her breath on your face as she inspects you, and she looks so concerned and worried and scared, and you've never _ever_ seen Alex look at you this way. You swallow, and hesitantly claim her face between your hands. Yes. _Yes, she is alive and she is real._ 'Piper, what the fuck is going on with you?'

'I––I don't know!' You laugh. 'I don't know!' Your hands slip to your side, and you take a step back. 'I––I think I'm going crazy? Do you think I'm going crazy?'

Alex doesn't answer.

'I'm crazy, yes. I'm going a little crazy.' A giggle. You can't hear yourself. 'She's going to come back and kill me, Alex. She'll kill me.'

'No one's gonna kill you, Pipes.'

'You think so? I'm only alive 'cos she got bored with me.'

'I won't let her kill you, Piper.'

'Alex, I don't know what's wrong with me!' The laughter stops. Suddenly, the world swerves around you, and you panic. You can't stop thinking about that hideous face in the mirror. About Williams' fists meeting your cheeks. About what they did to you in psych. Those needles, smiles and pens on paper, scribbling away. You want to go home. You need to go home. You need––

'Piper. You're going to hurt yourself––'

'Don't let them take me again––'

' _Piper_.'

She's clinging to your top; she's trying to stop you from moving around so much. You feel her hand on your bruised cheek, and it feels good. It feels good to have her touching you. You really like that. Your shoulders slacken. Your spine feels as if it's lost its strength. Hot tears pour from your aching eyes, and you collapse into her arms. You don't know what's wrong with you, and you want Alex to hold you tightly and never let go.

 _Hold me. Hold me until the pain stops._

Alex gently ushers you up against the sink, and this helps you find your balance. She doesn't let you go; one hand clutches yours, while the other brushes back a few strands of hair across your damaged face. She's so soft with you, like she always has been. You close your eyes, and feel your body calm. The panic evaporates. You pay all of your attention on the woman before you, so near and close, wonderfully close.

How did it get this way?

How can this be the same drug importer you met all of those years ago?

'Are you real?'

She doesn't laugh. Her left eye twitches, and she watches you silently. Your deepest wounds are beginning to show, and, at first, you're terrified Alex might not be able to handle it. Whatever you are. Whatever psych has become of you.

Alex takes your other hand. 'Yeah, I'm real, and so is everything else.'

You sigh heavily. Relieved. Maybe mad, mad, mad Piper isn't so mad after all. 'Alex?' She's listening. 'Do you hate me?'

A flicker of an emotion passes her face, but it's gone before you're able to identify it. She knows what you mean, why you ask. Alex trails the back of her hand across your cheek. She's always been blunt, she's always been honest with you––for the most part. Alex breathes. 'I've never hated you, Pipes.' She pauses. She's hesitating. Her eyes avert from yours. '...I didn't like what you were doing––before, but that was before. It doesn't matter anymore, all right?'

It's what you expected to hear. You cry again, silently. Your voice trembles as you whisper, 'However I was before, Alex––that's who I am. I haven't been anybody else except myself––' You've admitted it. The truth is out, and it feels like a huge weight off your shoulders. _You have been nobody but yourself within these walls._

You watch her, wait.

Alex doesn't argue, and you are in no fit state to argue.

The two of you are resigned from arguing. Your exhaustion hits, and you want nothing more than to fall asleep in her embrace. And that's all you need. You need her to keep you stable, alive––you need Alex. _You need her to love you once more._

Your throat narrows, and you start to panic again. 'Alex, please––please don't let them send me back. I can't go back, Alex.' You pull at her top, at her collar, pressing your chest against hers, conscious of her hands at your stomach, and then at your hips. You press your mouth into the crook of her neck, scrunching your eyes shut. 'Please don't take me back there.'

'I won't let them take you anywhere.' You're terrified when Alex starts to retreat, but you realise she only wants to look at you. She claims your wrists in her hands, and her eyes find yours. 'D'you hear me? I won't let them take you anywhere.'

You believe her. Of course you do.

She is the only person left whom you trust.

The weight of her words sink into your mind, and you wrap your arms around the back of her neck. She holds you again, and kisses the corner of your mouth, the cut across your forehead. You gasp, close your eyes, and your heart pounds in your ears. You don't want her to stop. You want her. You need her. Suddenly, Alex is _everything_. Your everything. Suddenly, only she matters, and you cannot let her go.

'I've missed you,' you murmur. 'I thought––I thought you were dead––' Your voice cracks, you shudder, and kiss her back when she kisses you.

'So did I, for a moment there.'

You press your lips onto hers, firm and tight, break away to breathe. 'Alex.' Your fingers intertwine with hers, and you have to be kissed again, just for the touch, the sensation, the comfort, the reassurance that you are alive. Her breath tickles your nose, and you feel like you're tumbling. So you kiss her harder, again and again, feeling her warmth spread in your chest as she holds onto you so tightly.

The pressure, rush, everything about her forces you to stop and pull away. Alex frowns, a little flushed, a little concerned. 'Piper?'

You're calmer. Breathing is easier, but as you look at her, you don't know what you're meant to think or say. _You need to stop crying._ 'I just... I spent days, _months_ strapped to a bed and I––I tried to figure out why I did what I did. I'm confused––I don't know who I _am_ anymore.' You may be you, but who is that? Who is Piper Chapman now? Your words clearly pinch Alex. You see her wince. You see her react, and it's devastating to know that your pain causes her pain too.

She knows what that's like though, you realise. She knows what it's like to feel confused about yourself, to stop and panic, wonder what you are and what is going on in your head. She knows what it's like to be entangled into a web of hysteria.

She's been there before. After you left her in Paris.

A small, ghost of a smile reaches her lips. Sad almost.

Forgiving.

'You'll find out soon enough, kid.'

 **:.:**


End file.
